


Later

by driedflowers



Category: Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedflowers/pseuds/driedflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Baz and Simon linger after Chemistry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really written in the present tense before, and I've definitely strayed from my usual writing style. I'm not sure if I like it. Let me know what you think in the comments. Also, I'm not 100% sure about the rating. (I know it doesn't matter a ton, but I'm very particular about these sorts of things.) Let me know about that, too.

The bell rings.  There’s the scraping of chairs, the hustle and bustle of students rushing out of the classroom, in a hurry to be anywhere but Chemistry.  Baz and Simon hang back.  They’ve just finished cleaning up a spill.  It was Simon’s fault, probably, but Baz doesn’t really remember now, or even what liquid has inched across the desk, threatening to soak their books and drip onto the floor.  It doesn’t matter, really.  

All that seems to matter to Baz is that their chemistry professor is mysteriously gone, and Simon is still standing there looking perfect, as always, and they are alone.  And suddenly he wonders if he’s dreaming because _why would this ever happen?_ but in his dreams Simon never speaks, and the Simon with him in the classroom opens his mouth, so this must be real.

“Thanks for helping me clean this up.” He is so glad this is real, because even though Professor Chilblains forced him to stay and mop up the spill, Simon is grateful for it. Is even expressing gratitude towards him, instead of abhorrence, for once, and he is so glad. But he can’t let on, he can never let on, so he only gives a noncommittal grunt, and they stand there for a little longer and he can’t bear it anymore, this _thing_ inside his chest is too much, and the anguish must be showing on his face, because Simon looks worried.

“Baz? Are you alright?” And Simon’s face is now close to his own, which is not listening to him, so he can’t manage his usual expressionless mask, and he knows that the emotions raging inside him are plain to see on his face. And he only knows what they look like because he sees them mirrored in Simon’s eyes. This could mean one thing, one thing only, and Simon must realize it too, because then they are both leaning in–

And it’s not a mistake, he didn’t misread things, because Simon bloody Snow is kissing him, and it is not a dream, but it might as well be for how amazing it feels.

Soon, too soon, he hears footsteps in the hall, and he breaks the kiss, because Professor Chilblains would not have this sort of thing in his lab, and Simon is blinking at him and blushing and as adorable as that may be, as he may be, they have class.

Baz is gathering his things, and urging Simon to do the same, and they are going out of the classroom, almost stumbling into the empty hallway, and Baz is kissing him again, and what was that thing they had to go to? He is not thinking of exactly how late they are going to be, or exactly what kinds of questions Penelope and Agatha are going to ask, or anything else in the world beyond _Simon_ , Simon Snow.

It is Simon who pulls away this time and Baz is afraid, afraid just a little bit that this has all been too good to be true, or that this is Snow’s idea of a cruel joke, but one glance into his blue eyes tells Baz that it was real. Simon tugs on Baz’s sleeve and jerks his head down the corridor.

“We’ve got to get to class.”

“Later?” There is a pleading note in his voice and there is nothing he can do about it, and it sounds pathetic, and Simon is going to realize exactly how much of a mistake this is.

“Later.”

They exchange tentative smiles, and they go their separate ways and Baz cannot even fathom a _later_ , his mind is still reeling about now, about _that just happened_ and _this is real_.

When he arrives late to his next class, he tells Penelope that he was cleaning up a spill, and she buys it. Why wouldn’t she? Baz keeps the kiss under wraps, and it is like a pilot light inside of him, or maybe a battery, carrying him, carrying him until _later_. And he can’t focus on the lesson, he is too busy thinking, because the future seems vast ahead of him, so vast, filled with laters, and he can maybe even imagine a forever.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized today, weeks after posting this, that the pilot light metaphor was taken from Attachments, by Rainbow Rowell. This is awkward. So, thanks for the stuff in the comments about it, but it's not mine. It was an accident.


End file.
